


Anders Looks Amazing in Rope

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Series: Treats [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bondage, Coming Untouched, Dom!Hawke, Dom/sub, Gags, Happy Ending, Hawke is a very loving man, Hawke makes a mistake, Kinbaku, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safe Word Use, Smut, Sub!Anders, Subspace, Trust Kink, businessman syndrome, consensual forced choking on cock, fun with electricity, heh I'm terrible, hidden Fenris angst, liberal interpretation of orders, lovingly described, metamours!Fenris/Anders, minor Hawke/Fenris/Anders, minor Justice/Hawke, ropes, so to speak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-16 10:50:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11251599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: There are things Hawke and Anders enjoy that Fenris can’t abide, so he steps aside tonight.





	1. Morning Resolution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rosehip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosehip/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Anders in Artsy Kinbaku](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/301227) by drawsshits. 



> Thanks to everyone who's been supportive of this series! I appreciate the Kudos, comments, Tumblr reblogs and discussions, and yes even the lurkers! You're all welcome here, and I encourage you to interact as much as you're comfortable with for now. 
> 
> My key find when researching how to tie [drawsshits’](http://drawsshits.tumblr.com/) artsy kinbaku was [this Kagerou shibari video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Gb7l06sr-0&index=58&list=PLSB5-YytXuqaO52EwAvsU9rTNDS6TUGxb). If you’re curious about ropes, check out [the Twisted Monk](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCf0Ppq1DSjA1eOvPbB68G5w). Always do safety research before you try anything from a fanfic. 
> 
> If this is your first Treat, you should know that Anders’ collar has a few rules associated with it: 1) Hawke will take care of Anders. 2) Anders won’t speak, unless it’s his safe word or Hawke asks. 3) Good pets are rewarded, and bad pets are punished.

“You could play without me,” Fenris says and caresses Hawke’s arm, enjoying the texture. Hawke brushes a lock of white hair out of his eyes. Fenris turns his head, and it falls back.

_If Anders and I are co-boyfriends, then we’re equal._ Fenris and Hawke are sprawling across the sheets, a demolished breakfast tray by their feet. Fenris has been staring at the way the late morning sun brightens the bed’s canopy and brooding. _I get sex and companionship with Hawke, but Anders only comes when he’s invited._ Fenris remembers Anders’ face when he’d left him with Hawke for a few minutes. _Anders needs more._

 “What do you mean?” Hawke mumbles, trying again to brush his hair out of the way.

“You and Anders could use ropes and electricity without me,” Fenris says.

“Are surprise sex discussions a new habit?” Hawke kisses white hair as if to make it stay.

“Perhaps.” Fenris smiles.

“I hope so,” Hawke says, then considers. “Knowing I bound Anders won’t bother you? Or using magic for fun?”

“Leave me plausible deniability, and I’ll cope,” Fenris says, shrugging off his discomfort. “No advance details.”

“Or you could peek in. Anders looks amazing in rope.”

“Hawke.” Fenris struggles with renewed discomfort at the mental image of Anders defenseless. _He’s bound Anders before, it will be fine._ “Tell me afterwards. Better, he can tell me.”

“Fen, you sure?” Hawke has spotted his unease.

_Can I ignore my worries? Should I?_ Fenris tangles fingers in Hawke’s chest fur. _This is Hawke._

Out loud, he says, “You want us both. He needs you.”

“He needs you, too.”

Fenris glares his disbelief. “Highly unlikely,” he says.

“How about he needs the challenge you give him?” Hawke props himself on one elbow.

Fenris’ mouth twitches up at the corner. “I enjoy pushing him.”

Hawke raises an eyebrow.

“The ways he wants me to, Hawke.” For instance, the no-blood boundary is dangerous if Anders can lose control of his magic and tap into it.

_Why is Anders afraid of doing blood magic? Does he know how?_ Fenris buries the thought, but it will return.

“I’m giving you shit,” Hawke assures him.

“Anyway, why weasel out of time with your other boyfriend?” Fenris teases, tracing Hawke’s collarbone lazily with his fingertips.

“I don’t want out. I’m surprised.” Hawke strokes Fenris’ hair. “You look after him.”

“I promised I would,” Fenris grumbles, tossing his leg over Hawke’s hip.

Hawke settles on the mattress and tugs Fenris’ knee so his hip crease is flush against Hawke’s thigh. “We can ask if he wants me to himself sometimes.”

Fenris snorts. “He’ll say yes.”

“Flatterer. He hasn’t brought it up. Perhaps this relationship is his nefarious ticket into your pants.”

Fenris’ snort expands into a chuckle. “Will that foolish mistake outlive me? More likely, he’ll luxuriate in my absence.”

Hawke shifts, lazily tangling legs. “Have I told you today I love you?” he mumbles into his ear.

“Depends,” Fenris replies, “did we go to sleep before midnight?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire work is written, I just need to put the final polish on each chapter. I'm planning on posting one chapter each day, though sometimes I can do more on weekends. It's about 8,500 words total.


	2. Invitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing is less than 200 words. Don't worry, I'll make it up to you in the smut chapter!

Anders has patients, so he can only nod as Fenris broods into the clinic. He expects Fenris to leave a note, but he leans on a wall. Unlike Hawke, Fenris watches the whole room, but his eyes flick to power.

 _The way a templar might,_ Justice grumbles. _Without authorization from the Chantry,_ Anders reminds him…self.

The first patient is chewing through rags to keep from crying out: a broken arm. The next is suffering a disease cocktail from the loot-strewn sewers. A mage arrives in the doorway, but leaves when she sees his guest. Not a _medical_ emergency, then. When no one is screaming or dying very fast, Anders greets Fenris.

“Can you visit Hawke’s estate tonight?” he asks.

Anders blinks. “Hawke usually invites me.”

Fenris shrugs. “He could, if you insist. But you need to know I endorse Hawke’s gift. Can you come?”

 _Why does a gift from Hawke need the lyrium elf’s approval?_ Justice grumbles.

“Sure. I’ll show by sundown if no one’s dying,” Anders says to mock his own reality.

 _Is Fenris relieved?_ Anders can’t ask: the elf leaves the collar and Darktown too abruptly.

 _Beautiful, but impolite or worse,_ Justice grumbles.


	3. Armor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another short chapter with everyone arriving.

A crash in the back rooms precedes loud cursing. Hawke smiles. He hasn’t sorted out every Tevene swear, but he sometimes asks Fenris for translations: refined expressions for dog penis and shitting on tongues. Fenris emerges from behind the stairs, slapping dust off his armor in clouds.

“He’s coming. His vagrants have returned to their gutters.”

Hawke snorts. “Okay, one, rude. Anders heals you, too, moocher.” Hawke gestures and follows Fenris into the parlor. “Two, why are you so fussed?” _It’s not eagerness for the sex tonight. He’s worried._

Fenris pauses before the fire and gazes at middle-distant floor tiles, the subservient expression making Hawke queasy but unwilling to interrupt. “To your first point, I keep swords off _him_ , so healing is fair trade when _I_ get stabbed. As for the second… rumor says the templars will raid Darktown tonight.” His hands curl into fists.

“Fenris? Fen? You’re doing it again.” Hawke tugs his chin, but Fenris’ eyes stay glued to the floor until Hawke says, “Hey. This is not sexy submission.”

Fenris meets Hawke’s eyes. They’re guarded, unfocused. Hawke’s stomach flips.

“Fenris. We’re equals. You have your work. You can trust me, but keep secrets if needed, like this rumor’s source. If secrets don’t hurt us, keep them. We’re partners.” As Hawke speaks, Fenris relaxes. _Thank the Maker, he’s back._

“You’re right,” he says. “I was doing it again. Thank you.” He rocks onto his toes, and they’re still kissing slow and sweet when Anders walks in.

“Isn’t the parlor reserved for conversation?”

“Anders! Join our conversation.” Hawke holds an arm up and Fenris makes room. His wonder at Fenris accepting Anders blooms again. _It hasn’t been easy, but still…_

“Let me get my, uh, feathers off before I join that conversation,” he says, smiling thinly and unbuckling armor.

“Nonsense,” Hawke says. He strides over, grinning, to help remove armor and cover Anders’ salty skin with kisses. When Anders tiredly bats him away, he takes the pauldrons. They’re heavy, like Kirkwall is enmeshed in the feathers.

“Hey!” Anders objects.

“You wanted your feathers off,” Hawke says, shouldering them. Nothing shakes loose, more’s the pity.

“Better hang them up, Hawke,” Fenris deadpans. “Feathers are not your look.”

“Ouch! Hey, your armor comes off, too,” Hawke says, heading for their stands.

Fenris shrugs. “I suppose it does.”

Hawke slips caresses under his boyfriends’ armor more than he helps. He’s planning on much more later, but he savors being playful with them now. When his exuberance wears out, they shove him toward his chair. From there, he watches them chat and remove layers of armor.

 _Like presents unwrapping themselves._ Hawke chides himself for the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke's mistake will be revealed next chapter during the relationship negotiation, which will be followed by kink negotiation.   
> Hang in there. The chapter after that will be the sexy-fun parts!


	4. Fenris Leaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plus negotiation. Sexy fun times next chapter!

Anders chuckles, tired to the bone, as Hawke settles in his chair to watch them. _I can never decide whether to be annoyed or pleased when he gets like this._

“How was your walk up?” Fenris says low enough Hawke can’t hear.

“It was pleasant,” Anders admits. “The sky was clear once I got to Hightown, and it’s not sweltering hot this late.”

Fenris shoots him a curious look. “No dodging street gangs?” he says.

“Street—? Oh. No, I never have trouble with them.”

“How is that possible?” he says, wondrously. Something deep in Anders’ mind hums.

“I healed the little brother of the lead Bloodrager a few years back. He threatened to let me live as long as the brother did and was grateful enough to make it into a promise.”

“That explains it,” Fenris says with a small smile.

_You have not told the whole story._

Anders nods at Fenris as he puts the last of his armor on the stand.

_Don’t. It’s the truth, and releasing mages from the Gallows is not something Fenris wants to hear about._

_Be proud of your victories,_ Justice recommends.

_I wonder whether blood mages count,_ Anders thinks and sighs.

_Perhaps you’ve a point._

Anders and Fenris settle across from each other at the low table as Orana pours wine. He must have arrived on Fenris’ heels. A memory flashes up: sitting on Hawke’s lap while Fenris waited elsewhere. Anders doesn’t examine it: his reality is Hawke _and_ Fenris, and somehow it’s okay.

When Orana leaves, Anders sets the collar on the table. Hawke and Fenris exchange stares, Hawke’s amused and Fenris’ laced with dread. They’re practically telepathic, and Anders’ emotions are tender but unwounded. It’s far from love with Fenris, but they understand each other.

Still, the silence is awkward. “Does the winner of this staring contest get a _gift_?” Anders says.

Hawke smirks ‘your cue’ at Fenris. The elf fidgets, revealing something in his palm. Fenris rounds the table, sets it in front of Anders, and returns to his seat.

Anders peers at the metal. “It’s a key,” he says. Its head matches the Hawke emblem on Fenris’ tiny shield. “A key to Hawke’s place?”

Hawke’s fighting against laughter. “Anything you want to _say_ , Fenris? Maybe with _words_?”

“I… want the key to be yours,” Fenris says, nodding at it. “Also, we should clear better passage. The cabinet by the door—”

“—will slow followers,” Hawke counters.

Fenris snorts. “That’s what the lock is for,” he says.

“What?” Anders asks. “Furniture doesn’t block passages from the door.” The only cabinets he knows of are in Hawke’s room.

“Venhedis, I forgot that part,” Fenris says, pressing the side of his thumb against his forehead.

“That isn’t to the front door,” Hawke says. “That’s Bodhan’s job. Your key is for the entrance by your clinic, through the basement.”

Anders blinks, his head twitching back. “That’s…” He glances at Fenris, who is losing a fight with a smile, and back at Hawke, who isn’t fighting it. “That’s useful, if—” Anders picks up the key, tentatively.

“If nothing,” Hawke says. “You’re welcome here.”

Anders’ fingers twitch around the key.

“That’s for seeing Hawke,” Fenris clarifies, “for any reason.”

Anders is fighting new hope about this… arrangement. _No, Fenris will be here and watch. He doesn’t trust._  “You stay here, Fenris? I thought you had your mansion.”

“I spend most nights at the mansion,” Fenris says, nodding.

“So you’re… willing to leave me with Hawke?”

“Will you steal or endanger him?” Fenris says too lightly.

“Of course not!” Anders snaps anyway.

“Good. Though if you hurt him, I will rip your heart out,” he says sincerely. _Ah, there’s the suspicion I can expect—_

“Maybe my boyfriends don’t threaten each other?” Hawke doesn’t move, like they might shatter. Again.

“Not a threat. That was fair warning,” Fenris says, waving his wineglass in sporting salute.

“Tell you what,” Anders says wearily, “if I hurt Hawke, I’ll throw myself at your limited mercy.”

“Maybe my boyfriends don’t volunteer to die? What the frick,” Hawke says, his tone lighter than his words. “Why are you—I’m not defenseless!”

“You’d be defenseless against us,” Fenris points out, lifting his wine glass and lounging. “Fortunately, we love you.”

“How much have they offered you?” Anders leans forward, smiling.

“Highest was twenty sovereigns, half down.” Fenris rests his ankle on one knee.

“Nice! They offered me thirty, but nothing up front.” Anders had never considered accepting it.

“What, seriously?” Hawke is half-smiling in case they’re joking. Anders isn’t. “There are hits out on me?”

“Slavers and gangs. Hitmen won’t risk it, and your friends love you,” he assures him.

“Illegal bounties never even tempt Sebastian or Aveline,” Fenris muses.

“Fenris, remind me to snap less when Isabela flirts with you,” Hawke says, huffing a chuckle.

Fenris ducks behind his hair. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Don’t mistake me: she can’t have you.”

“I am yours,” Fenris agrees, glimpsing Hawke through the fringe. Anders grips the key harder. _He’s_ as much Hawke’s as Fenris.

“Gives me chills every time you say that,” Hawke says.

“I should say it more often, then.” Fenris teases.

“Hello! Can we focus? Something about sharing?”

“Do you have unmet needs, pet?” Fenris’ tone gives Anders emotional whiplash.

He takes a sip of wine to hide the surge of desire. “You’re not stingy. But…” How can he say this? “Hawke likes ropes and magic, too.”

“Anders, it’s okay to want him to yourself sometimes.” Fenris says, brows knitting one over the other.

_Fenris gets it. I’m not being selfish._ This simple validation boosts Anders’ confidence. _He saw what I needed._

“You probably want the same?” Anders offers.

“He didn’t tell you?” Fenris shoots a panicked look to Hawke, who has an oh, shit face.

“Anders, I’m sorry. I thought you knew.” Hawke crosses to Anders, pressing his ear against Hawke’s stomach. “Shit, an assumption I didn’t know I was making.”

Anders shoves Hawke, and he steps back. Fenris twists so he’s looking behind himself, one hand tangled in his hair and an elbow on his knee. Avoiding Anders’ eyes.

Justice rings out: _The treacherous, beautiful elf spends time here—what do they do?!_

“I’ll skip going into hysterics if you explain,” Anders says in an icy voice.

Hawke’s face contorts, and his hand twitches toward him, but he returns heavily to his seat.

_Shut up, Justice. Look at him. Both of them. Does it matter?_

Hawke says, “Fenris visits often, and we sometimes play. Less often than _with_ you, but…” Hawke presses the heels of his hands to his eyelids.

_It’s as I feared. How can we believe they care?_

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell him, Hawke,” Fenris looks up, but not at Anders. _Sitting right there, avoiding me._

“Oh, fuck, I know!” Hawke flings his arms open and stares up, searching the Fade above for a sign. “Looking back, it’s obvious, and I missed it.” Hawke looks at Anders. “Forgive me, I fucked up.”

“You did,” he agrees and breathes deep, gripping the key. _This key is amends. They intended no harm._

“I love you _both_ ,” Hawke says. Anders’ chest aches. He wants that sentence for himself once in a while. “Fenris and I can be… spontaneous sometimes. But how could you know?”

Anders shoves Justice’s muttering into the back of his brain and sorts through how he feels. Hurt, but not much. “This sucks, but it _should_ have been obvious.” He glances at Fenris. His eyes are wide. _Better._ “Not like I don’t know you have sex: I’ve helped.” Anders flushes as he remembers Fenris on his hands and knees, beautiful tattoos tracing across his body, begging brokenly for Hawke to fuck him.

“I’m sorry, too,” Fenris says, staying with him across the table. “I assumed you knew.”

“When Hawke mentioned practice before, I thought he meant handling the curtain.” Anders shifts the fabric, Hawke’s token, under his robes, shakes his head. “I _wanted_ to think that’s all he meant; I was afraid to ask.” Anders smiles at Fenris then at Hawke. Anders has a key. “Things have changed. No, this doesn’t hurt the way you’d think.”

“Anders, I…” Fenris takes a deep breath. “I want to offer comfort,” he says with odd formality.

“Maker,” Hawke groans, “not another hug.” He shakes a finger at Fenris, then Anders, smiling back at them. “If you two hug again, I’m not looking. Last time was Bride-fucking awkward.”

“Just means we need practice, Hawke,” Anders teases.

“My house risks burning when you two _practice_!”

“You’ve no proof!” Fenris cries as Anders objects, “Your walls are _stone_ , Hawke!”

Hawke laughs, “Fine, fine! Get it over with! Go on, offer your comfort, Fenris.”

He huffs in response and rounds the table. Anders stands, and Fenris wraps lyrium-traced arms around him. The toggles of Fenris’ vest dig into his robe as he presses his hands against Fenris’ back. It’s not bad.

“I _am_ sorry,” Fenris mutters as they rock awkwardly.

“S’okay,” Anders says. “We’re good.”

Fenris looks up, and Anders touches their foreheads.

“Good,” Fenris says. He flicks his eyes toward Hawke. _He’s watching._ They exchange smirks.

Anders leans as Fenris pushes up a few inches, and when their lips meet, Anders can feel the buzz of the lyrium tattoos against his bottom lip. _Oops, landed too low._ Justice hums, dissonant with the buzz.

Hawke is gaping.

“Close your mouth before an insect flies in, Hawke,” Anders says as he sits.

Hawke’s mouth snaps shut. Fenris chuckles. _Does Fenris always laugh so much?_ He’s chortled and snickered more the last few weeks than the prior six years. _It’s refreshing._ When he’d laughed truly hard, though… Anders suppresses that memory.

“Practice is not so bad,” Hawke says.

“Oh, please, Hawke. That was still awkward,” Fenris says and leans back in his chair.

“Sure, but cute-awkward not painful-awkward.” Hawke smiles, Anders wants to preserve that smile forever.

“I’ll concede the point.”

Anders says, “Can we get back to the intriguing reasons I have a key?”

“I thought we’d examined those reasons?” Fenris says in the same dry tone.

Hawke ignores him. “Come by anytime, open invitation. I’ve missed you.”

Fenris says, “I can vouch for that. ‘We should show this to Anders.’ ‘Anders might like this weird fruit.’ And so on.”

“When you’re gone, I pester Bodhan about both of you,” Hawke says, and Anders flinches but keeps his smile. _What is wrong with me?_

“Don’t pester Anders about me tonight,” Fenris says.

“I plan to bug you directly.” Hawke tilts his head the way he does when something’s up.

Fenris shrugs. “Sorry, Hawke, I’m not in the mood.” _Wait, what?_

“Oh,” Hawke says, silent a moment. “Want to read in the parlor or take a bath, join our sleepy dog-pile later?” He grins, quickly recovered.

“I’d rather not. I have tasks for tonight but wanted to share this. Tell me about it later.” Fenris’ rough voice catches on the last sentence.

“Come to breakfast?”

“Yes, that will work.”

“Fenris, you can stay,” Anders says, eyebrows scrunching together.

“That’s the beauty of it, Anders,” Fenris says. “I can go, instead.”

Anders can’t imagine why he’d go.

“Sorry about the plan, Hawke,” Fenris says, and it’s ritualistic, like the Chant.

Hawke shrugs. “It’ll keep.”

_Fenris has left Hawke cold before._ But Hawke doesn’t mind.

Fenris kisses Hawke and gives him the look that makes his eyes go unfocused, and Anders twitches again. As he buckles his armor back on, he glances at Anders like a thought struck him.

Hawke says, “So, Anders, you still good?”

“Yeah,” he replies, blinking. He gets Hawke to himself. That’s marvelous, but he’s gotten used to Fenris. No hungry eyes, no one to taunt. _But Hawke._ Ropes, magic, and only one mouth for Hawke to claim. “Yes, this will be fun,” he says. “Can you whip up a last-minute plan?”

Fenris huffs a laugh as he buckles a gauntlet on, right hand bare.

Hawke smiles and says, “I might have thoughts.” _Maker, why is that hot?_

“You don’t just mention me when you find weird fruit?”

“He has enough ideas,” Fenris quips. “One more thing before I go.”

“Forget to put on your other gauntlet?” Anders taunts. Fenris in his spikier armor is odd without a fight.

“You’d enjoy this with gauntlets?” Fenris responds and instead of walking past Anders, he bends to wrap lyrium-traced fingers over his ponytail and kiss him.

“Mph!” Anders starts but relaxes. The elf tastes of cloves and a faint lyrium tang and something uniquely _Fenris._ Anders runs fingers through his shaggy white hair and hums.

“Have fun,” Fenris tells him.

“Oh, we will.” Anders can’t resist the playful jab.

Fenris nods to Hawke and leaves while buckling the other gauntlet. A bird call slips into the open window. Anders imagines Fenris striding to his mansion in the warm air, hunched under his enormous sword.

Hawke shakes his head. “You two always surprise me,” he says.

Anders smiles charmingly. “I can surprise you without him.”

“Probably so,” Hawke concedes, chuckling. “Do you have preferences for tonight?”

“Out of ideas already?”

“My ideas are delightful, but they shouldn’t overshadow yours.”

“I want whatever you want, Hawke. I made enough decisions today. Some saved lives, but if I’d messed up…” Anders sighs. _Did I mess up?_ “I don’t want decisions. Make it easy to please you, and you can get me off however you want.”

Hawke nods. “I can do that,” he promises. “You want ropes?”

“Maker, yes. Even better.”

“Blood is on the ‘no’ list. Anything else?”

“Yes. Or is that no?” Anders sighs, frustrated. “No blood, no new squicks.”

“Per the usual,” Hawke says. “Is using magic too much? Shit, have you had dinner?”

“Yes, Hawke, I’ve eaten.” Anders rolls his eyes. “Nothing fancy, but I had plenty.” _Breakfast will be here._ “Magic could be fun. The mana is negligible. I just don’t want to decide when to use it. I don’t want to have to read you tonight. Am I babbling?”

Hawke hums, but he’s smiling. “Anything off the ‘yes’ list for tonight? Anal, oral, hand jobs, rimming? Humiliation, pain?”

“I’m more interested in humiliation than pain for now. I half-expect Fenris to chime in with ‘marking.’” Anders gestures toward the empty chair.

Hawke grins. “I can leave him something.”

“Oh!” Anders grins back. “Yes, please.”

Hawke hums lower. “It drives me crazy when you squirm. I’d like you to do that for me tonight.”

“I can manage that,” Anders agrees, warm arousal pooling in his throat and hips.

“You get veto rights on this idea. No obligation. You love to choke on my cock. I want to hold you there with your air blocked.”

Anders blushes, absurdly grateful Fenris isn’t here. “I’ve, uh, I’ve _thought_ about that, but isn’t it dangerous?”

“I’ve been talking with that friend in Orlais, and I can reduce the risk. She told me how to get you extra air, what to watch for. It’s not zero, but you like pushing your physical limits, so you might enjoy this.”

An embarrassing whine escapes Anders. “Can we use the bell?” he whispers.

Hawke grunts. “You want to be bound for that?”

“Fade, yes,” Anders breathes. His tired muscles purr with anticipation.

Hawke eyes Anders. “The bell, then. Yes.”

Anders nods, wishing for the collar.

Hawke stares with this smoldering smile. Anders gets an urge to say ‘please?’ without knowing why. Hawke picks up the collar, and Anders isn’t tired at all.

“Let’s head up,” he says, still smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random language/culture speculation time!   
> Since possession was common, there’s probably a lost pronoun set in Elvhen that translates to I/you/me. Justice’s “How can we believe they care?” was more like, “How can you (expect me to) believe they care?” There might have been words similar to conflict, disharmony, or torn, plus a connotation that the person is possessed/hosted. Perhaps there was a whole profession or set of cultural practices for dealing with internal dissonance caused by disagreeing with your own spirit/host.


	5. Fun with Rope

Anders undresses under Hawke’s appreciative gaze. His skin whispers against fabric and leather, which he folds and sets neatly on the desk next to Hawke’s armless chair. Anders leaves the collar on, but lays Hawke’s red token on his clothes.

When Anders is naked, Hawke makes space between his knees and says, “Stand here.” Anders relaxes further. Fenris isn’t here: Hawke will focus on him. His skin tingles.

Hawke turns him and presses his lips to the smooth skin of his ass. Then he sucks just hard enough to mark: Hawke was here. The pleasure spreads over Anders’ skin, radiating from Hawke’s mouth. Anders hums. The next, overlapping hickey is an intense glow suffusing Anders’ ass and back. Hawke sucks almost hard enough to hurt, and Anders whines. Hawke keeps examining the mark’s shape, but by the collar’s rules Anders can’t ask, so he lets his curiosity go.

“Please me,” Hawke says when he finishes with a swat. “Lips and touch and your electricity thing. We’ve focused on you, you selfish brat. Do you remember how?”

Anders nods. It’s okay. He’d asked for humiliation. It will be good soon. _I can prove myself._ He crouches to mouth and caress Hawke’s skin, sinking to one knee to comb fingers through the thatch of hair in the center of his chest and follow the trail that disappears into his pants.

“Such a slut for it,” Hawke says, stopping his hand. “If I don’t stop you, you’ll try to stuff my cock down your throat next.”

Anders blushes and freezes. It will be okay. No, he’s frozen, he can’t move, he can’t prove himself. _There’s nothing I’ve done to deserve this._

Hawke opens his mouth, and Anders wants to run before he hears Hawke’s next insult.

“Wiggams,” he says. “It’s not working.” Anders closes his eyes to check his body and emotions. Normally this embarrassment fuels his lust, but something’s wrong tonight. It’s not settling in his gut. It’s staying high, in his shoulders and head. And, Andraste’s sword, it _hurts._

Hawke catches a tear as it leaps down his cheek. “Shit,” he says. “I’m sorry. We can scrap this and snuggle.”

“No.” Anders stands up. “Don’t be sorry. It should drive me crazy, but the humiliation isn’t helping tonight.” Anders tries to catch another tear sliding down his face, turns to hide it. “Shit.”

“Shh,” Hawke soothes, catching his chin and drying his tears with his other hand. He pulls Anders into his lap. His embrace grounds Anders, and thank Andraste the tears stop. Hawke continues: “I’m just as eager for you. I love you so much.”

“It’s usually perfect. Maker, I… Something, I don’t know, isn’t clicking.”

“No need to explain,” Hawke says, tracing his fingers from the hinge of Anders’ jaw to his chin. “You’re gorgeous and generous and wonderful and I love you.”

“Yes,” Anders whispers. “I want to be _that_ tonight.”

Hawke runs his fingers through Anders’ hair. It’s absolution. “You’re always that for me, sex or no.” Hawke’s sweet kiss is long and slow.

“I’m up for kneeling or crawling, physical stuff, but praise instead of verbal humiliation. Flames, I want you.”

“I want you too,” Hawke says, but before he adds anything, Anders smiles and says, “Wiggams.”

“Rude!” Hawke exclaims, and Anders chuckles against his shoulder. “Give me a moment... Okay, Ketojan.” Hawke continues to pet his hair. “Such a good pet. I love that you’re so eager and obedient. Fuck, your body, your skin.” Hawke works himself up like this, and Anders’ breath gets heavy as Hawke’s body hums under him and his hands get hungry. “You remember my last command?”

Anders nods.

“Good. Start with a kiss,” he says and as Anders leans in, Hawke cradles his face. Anders uses every trick Hawke has ever enjoyed: electricity sparking between their tongues, flick of tongue and bite of lip. The electricity is sharp and cold and fresh, like a foot briefly falling asleep. Anders keeps it low and tingly. Hawke likes it interesting, but not very painful. Anders kisses his neck, freeing Hawke to groan praise for Anders’ clever mouth and the fucking things he can do with it.

You bet Andraste’s ass he can. Fuck Fenris. Anders _wants this_.

Hawke strips his shirt, and Anders nibbles Hawke’s shoulders, caresses and sparks along his sides. He uses tongue on his nipples and sucks his bare skin, never leaving marks. The rules are clear again, no guessing at changes from Fenris.

Hawke lifts Anders’ head by the chin and kisses him roughly. It’s not desperate: Hawke is in control, but he’s long and hard in his noble pants. _Time to be a little bad._ Anders grabs the chair back and gets in one grind before Hawke pushes him off, hands gripped to his hips to keep his balance.

“Did I say you could do that, Pet?” Hawke demands, then he smiles and pecks his neck above the collar. “I can help you control yourself.” Anders whimpers. “You will look good in rope. Don’t move.” He goes to the cabinet.

Hawke’s cotton rope is bright crimson. Anders can’t take his eyes off it. Two identical lengths: one tossed on the bed, but the more interesting one is in Hawke’s hand. It’s wrapped Qunari style: Hawke tugs a loop, and the length unwinds. Little end knots hit the tile with a muted _tap_.

Hawke smiles, kisses Anders’ slackening mouth, and steps behind him. Anders loses sight of it, but every brush of rope is a brand of anticipation.

“Hold this position for me,” Hawke murmurs and pulls his arms straight behind his back, turning the wrists so they’re facing each other, stroking the skin. The shoulder stretch contributes to the glowing hum in his forehead. “Good pet.” Hawke wraps Anders’ wrists in rope. Anders fixates on the sliding rope as Hawke pulls the length into a knot between his wrists. There’s nothing he can do: Justice takes their body over, skin cracking, but Hawke’s litany of praise continues and Justice settles into Anders again.

Hawke threads the rope between his left arm and side, looping below the elbow. Anders’ favorite pattern starts with this, does Hawke remember? Yes, loop under the upper right arm next. Then he wraps across, around Anders’ chest. Hawke’s watching Anders, but he only sees the striking crimson rope on his too-pale skin.

“Deep in your head space already,” Hawke says. “I love making you feel like this.”

Anders’ whole body is humming. _Hawke giving this so generously._

Hawke is behind him again, tugging and keeping the rope tight but checking that Anders can adjust and is comfortable. Anders loses track: now there’s rope around his other upper arm, more knots in between, a loop holding his other forearm. Hawke is pulling the zigzag into a ladder. Tugging, pulling Anders. A stream of praise and check-ins. Pleasant fuzz of surrender. Everything is perfect. _Hawke will take care of me tonight._

He’s losing track. Hawke grabs the ropes to keep him balanced. Hawke’s deep chuckle goes straight to Anders’ cock.

“Can you kneel for me?” Hawke asks. So Anders kneels, but it’s hard, even with Hawke’s help. “A few more knots before we play.”

 _We’re playing now._ But Anders nods blearily, staring again at the red stripe across his chest. _Anything Hawke does will be good._ Maybe not after, but things like that aren’t possible. Hawke will make it good.

Hawke is sliding the last of the rope between Anders’ forearms, wrapping around the central line. Anders’ legs splay until his ass and knuckles hit the ground. Hawke examines his handiwork.

“I was right,” he says smugly, and Anders is pleased. “You look amazing. You should see it.” This is the best idea. Anders twists around. Hawke puts hands over the rope on his arms, and says, “Hold on. We’ll use the mirror.”

Hawke leans his mirror against the wall behind Anders, who turns enough to see his bindings, and fuck it’s gorgeous: a red rope ladder up his back. His own blissed expression makes him whimper. He thinks: _that’s me,_ and it socks him in the gut _._ He’s untethered, lost in wonder until Hawke crouches between him and his reflection. The possessive greed in Hawke’s face, oh fuck. _Hawke wants me to choke on his cock tonight._ The bell in Hawke’s hand.

He tucks the bell between Anders’ clutching hands, sits in the chair in front of him, unlaces his pants, and _he didn’t wear smalls today_ so his cock springs free. Hawke’s hands on the ropes, thighs tense against his arms. He says, “Remind me what else you can do with your mouth.” _Oh, fuck, yes._ Musk and soap and Hawke, fingers tangled in his hair, Hawke’s gorgeous cock smooth and hard between his lips, the ridge of the head against his tongue.

Hawke limits Anders to the tip, but he wants it deeper. He fights the fuzz in his brain: how can he get more? Skill and tongue. Hawke’s thighs twitch when Anders runs his tongue around the tip, slick bitter pre-cum. Anders isn’t sure how long he’s been working when Hawke pulls him off, tugging his loose hair.

Hawke rests a hand on his head, weighing his performance, glancing at the mirror against the wall. Anders licks his lips, and Hawke’s fingers tangle in his hair again.

“Well done, pet. Now show me how far you can take it.” _Yes._ Anders smells musk and soap. It overwhelms him as his throat tenses and his nose brushes the hair above Hawke’s cock. Anders loves the cock sliding against his lips, coating them in spit as Hawke pulls him off, cooler as Hawke pulls him deep again; the comforting hand guiding his head to keep the angle perfect for going deep. The head of his cock slides down Anders’ tongue, to the soft part of his throat, the muscles tensing like an orgasm when it hits the back. Hawke wraps another hand over the collar, and Anders slides deeper, fuzzier pleasure. The restraint on his arms hums, and he uses muscles of legs and back and neck. His whole body is being fucked.

Hawke holds him still. “Take a deep breath.” Something in his voice. Anders obeys, breathing through his nose. “Another breath, deeper,” Hawke growls, and once he’s taken that one: “Last one for now.” Before Anders can release the third breath, Hawke pulls to put his cock _so_ far back Anders gags again. The need for air presses gently, but he swallows through his choking and lets himself stay fuzzy. Hawke pulls him up, and Anders is disappointed.

“Twenty seconds, Pet. Well done, but you can do better. Nothing fancy. Another deep breath… Again… Again.” Hawke tugs, a touch guiding his eager descent. It’s longer this time. Anders focuses on Hawke in his throat, swallows. The need to breathe builds.

“You’re doing well. Forty seconds,” Hawke murmurs and pulls him up. Anders expels then sucks in air through his nose, but he wants more. “My beautiful pet,” Hawke says, because Anders’ muscles are loose and quivering and he’s panting through his nose, mouth wrapped around the tip of Hawke’s cock. He presses forward, and Hawke twitches and holds him back with a grunt.

“Breathe, Pet,” Hawke commands, and Anders takes and releases three deep breaths without further prompting and his bliss glows brighter. At the end of the third, Hawke pushes deep into his throat again. Pressure forms in his skull. His lungs ask, then demand to expand. Hawke is murmuring something, but he can’t hear the words. He gags and swallows and moves his diaphragm, expanding and contracting his stomach to trick his body into thinking he’s breathing. _Must breathe now._ Hawke pulls him up.

“So good,” he says, pulling him off and petting his hair. Anders whimpers, but Hawke says, “Don’t worry, Pet. I’ll give you another chance. I promised to hold you down, and you haven’t struggled yet. A minute twenty seconds, and no struggling.” Pride tinges his voice as he pushes Anders’ mouth wide with a thumb and middle finger on his cheeks. _Anything for you, love._ Hawke cradles himself with his free hand. “Now push all the air out.”

Anders obeys, breath loud.

“Now fill your lungs and hold your breath.”

Anders inhales all the way, filling his lungs.

“Inhale.”

Confused, Anders exhales shortly and inhales.

“No.” Hawke’s grip twitches, but he says, “Sorry, Pet, my fault. You’re being so good for me. Breathe normally, and I’ll explain.” Hawke cradles his chin. “You will exhale completely so the air is fresh. You’ll inhale and hold to stretch once. Then inhale more to stretch your lungs further. Do you understand?”

Anders opens his mouth, ready.

“So good,” Hawke says. “Exhale... Good pet. Now inhale as far as possible and hold it… Inhale again.”

This time Anders sucks in more air. His chest and throat strain.

“Yes. Exhale all the way.”

When they’ve completed three breaths, Anders is giddy. His calves and forearms tingle gently. Hawke pulls him in.

“Deep breath.” Before Anders can fill his lungs, Hawke’s cock is in his mouth. Anders inhales fast through his nose. He gets a full breath before Hawke cuts off the flow of air. Anders thinks it will be easier this time, until the panic starts.

With a tight grip on the bell, Anders tugs a test. Hawke keeps him in place, and he relaxes. He forgets to swallow and move his diaphragm, he needs air _now_. He wants to hold out, wants to see if he’ll pass out, wants to show Hawke his trust. Then he abruptly forgets that, too, and he strains against Hawke, against his bonds and the floor and his own chest as the bell slips out of his grip.

His lungs heave and it’s glorious, euphoric. Hawke lowers him to his side on the floor, straddles his bent legs to hold him steady, and caresses him with careful hands, and it is pleasant enough to buck and moan but he’s jelly.

Instead, he quivers and whispers, “How long?”

Hawke chuckles because Anders is happy and caresses his hair and says, “Two minutes, four seconds,” and Anders smiles and he’s proud for breaking two minutes and he wants to do it again but not today.

His arms are free and Hawke’s rolling him to his back and Hawke’s been untying him and he could get upset but the sensation is amazing when Hawke moves and rubs his arms, fingers to shoulder, sensitive where he’d pulled the rope. Then Hawke sits and pulls him into his lap to pet his hair and let him quiver. Anders presses their bodies together and mumbles into Hawke’s ear, “We’re both so _hard_.” Because they are.

“Give me your safe word when you’re ready.” Hawke’s voice is thick and Hawke’s holding back and Anders wants to give the word but it’s something ridiculous and he can’t think ridiculous things, just how Hawke will tie him up next.

“I want it,” Anders mumbles. _Perhaps to the chair, to see how many ways Hawke can use me before I cum. Perhaps on the floor, shivering with need while Hawke thrusts into his own fist over me. Perhaps on the bed: face up used like a toy or face down fucked into the mattress. Perhaps ropes holding me up while I’m fucked against the headboard._ Anders imagines the Hawke crest pressed into his face. _Is it the right height?_

“Then give your safe word,” Hawke rumbles, still stroking his skin.

“Wiggams,” Anders says, blinking at the lust on Hawke’s face.

Hawke stands and helps him to the bed. Anders is too needy to move well on his own.

“Kneel in the center of the bed,” Hawke says. “Close your eyes. Touch yourself for me, but not your cock.”

Anders closes his eyes, touches rope-shaped dents in his skin, and imagines touching his cock. Rope zips against rope at the bedpost and the opposite one. Caddy-corner. Face up or down? Face up and his ass might get shamefully little attention.

Hawke tucks a cool bottle of oil between his legs. “Warm this for me,” he says, so Anders pours oil into his hand and rubs his palms together to warm the oil. He coats his fingers and slides one into his ass. Within limits, and Anders can beg forgiveness if needed. Hawke hasn’t noticed, he’s making adjustments to the ropes. Anders slides a second finger inside himself and bobs on his hand. Silently: he doesn’t want to get caught. A third finger gives more stretch, and he ghosts over his balls. A moan escapes, and Hawke clambers over the bed and presses hands over his, keeping Anders frozen in this pleasure and pushing his fingers deeper.

“I didn’t tell you to do this,” Hawke says. “Explain yourself.” Anders can’t tell if he’s angry or turned on.

“I’m not touching my cock,” he says, squirming, “and the oil is _very_ warm.”

Hawke hisses a short breath. Turned on, Anders decides. Then Hawke’s carefully removing his fingers, holding his wrists, pulling him on his knees to the roped bedpost at the foot of the bed.

“Cheeky pet. I need to tie you again,” Hawke says gruffly. He releases one wrist to wrap the other in rope. Hawke slips two fingers under each rope cuff to check tightness.

“Test it,” Hawke says. Anders tries to wiggle out of the ropes, tied to the post but not each other. They’re secure and comfortable. “Your eyes are still closed. Perhaps you didn’t mean to disobey.”

Hawke pulls his hips, and Anders slides back over the satin sheets with a token objection as the ropes lean him forward. _Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, yes._ When his hands hit the mattress, Hawke tucks a pillow under him while he revels in the sheets’ texture, and then Hawke pulls his ankles slowly to the diagonal opposite bedpost. Hawke releases one ankle to tie the other. The rope pulls his legs slightly apart, and Hawke adjusts the pillow under Anders’ hips. Anders squirms to press it against his cock. Need surges desperately enough to give his desire sharp edges.

*clack* Anders taps his teeth together and leans toward Hawke, pleading.

“You may speak,” Hawke says.

“Please. A gag. Please.”

“You won’t be able to safe-word.” Hawke’s concerned, but it’s not a ‘no.’

“I need it. Please.” Anders can’t continue without the ball of fabric between his teeth. “I need it,” he whispers.

“Tell me why.”

“I trust you. I need you to know. You’re so generous. I want to give you everything tonight.” Anders lets himself plead with his voice as much as his words.

“I know you trust me,” Hawke murmurs. He pauses. “You will have the bell. Agreed?”

“Yes,” Anders says, relieved tears springing to his eyes. “Yes.”

“Good.” Hawke fetches the gag and tucks the knotted ball of soft cloth in his mouth, tying the tails behind his head then hands the bell to Anders.

Anders wedges it firmly. He bites into the soft gag as Hawke cradles his neck, and he’s floating again. The sharp edges of his desire fuzz warm. He moans, muffled, as one of Hawke’s thick, oiled fingers slides into his ass. Hawke says things Anders can’t remember: what matters is he’s pleasing Hawke. A second finger joins the first and Anders is floating off the bed. He pulls the ropes and _oh that’s nice_. He pulls again. The pleasure builds like rock candy from that seed, a solid sweetness. Hawke’s voice and hands keep him floating, and the ropes keep him moored to the bed. _When did I start that begging whimper?_

Hawke’s hand is over both his wrists and his body is above him, strong and safe. Anders bucks against Hawke, moves to fly, and Hawke’s cock slides against his ass. Hawke presses his teeth and lips onto the back of his neck.

“Fuck, you’re so good, so fucking perfect.” Hawke presses down and his cock is filling Anders’ ass with glorious pressure, far too slowly, and Anders tries to press back but he can’t _move_ and oh fuck that’s amazing but whose idea was it that he can’t speed Hawke up and Maker that’s good but he’s _stopped_ , why has he stopped.

Anders shivers and moans ‘please’ through the gag, and Hawke moves and _oh, fuck yes_. Anders floating before is _nothing_ compared to flying now. Nothing Anders can do will speed Hawke up, stop him, make it better, or ruin it. Hawke slides along his sweet spot again, and Anders moans. It doesn’t matter if he cums now or later, Hawke will fuck him as long as he wants. There is nothing Anders can do until Hawke decides he’s done.

Anders lets go completely.

A sweet sunshine in his body, Hawke moving over him, inside he can’t resist and no wish to. Forever bliss. Throat closes like pleasure all around, on his tongue, in his arms and legs. Hawke tight inside him and slick and loud and a bright light sensation shakes Anders in pulses, drains him, squeezes more pleasure.

When Anders is aware of time again, Hawke is collapsed, still inside him. Hawke’s orgasm echoes off the bedroom walls. There’s a sticky mess on the pillow under his hips, and Anders remembers cumming with him. Another shiver of pleasure wracks his body.

Hawke’s weight presses Anders into the mattress. He might fall asleep, be his blanket. Cotton ropes dig into Anders’ wrists and ankles. They don’t hurt, but damn he can’t do this all night. He moves, and Hawke stirs, slips out, groaning.

“Sorry I’m heavy.”

Anders shakes his head too wide and it feels comfortable, holds still so Hawke can untie the gag. Justice is silent.

“Tell me how you feel,” Hawke says, reaching for the ropes on Anders’ wrists.

“S’good, love,” Anders slurs. “Feels good.” He rolls over, crossing his ankles and tracing the new texture of his wrists. He winces at the spreading damp under him. _Oops._

“Right back atcha,” Hawke is looser than he’s pretending. He fumbles the ankle knots, but it’s still quick. He moves Anders to one side and cleans up, but there’s a damp pool in the middle of the bed.

Hawke removes the collar and curls next to Anders, arranging pillows. Anders tugs him to be his blanket again.

“Have I told you today I love you?” Hawke murmurs, caressing up an arm over the rope marks.

“Yes,” Anders murmurs. “Love hearing it again.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders, if you think Hawke didn’t watch every second of that little stunt, you’re sorely mistaken.
> 
> Writing Anders' headspace for this was an interesting challenge. 
> 
> If you’re wondering why I used the “Orgasm delay/denial” tag, re-read from Hawke’s perspective. Hawke was controlling himself, too, while he directed Anders through the deep breathing. I couldn't justify more detail than written because Anders is too spaced out. He's using what little focus he has to meet Hawke's challenge. Which is how Hawke likes it.


	6. Fenris Finally Stops Brooding (about this)

Fenris sees the splash of fresh crimson on the sheets first because he feared it. But it’s not blood. When he looks again, red rope spills off the bed, trailing from the bedpost.

Hawke’s lying on his side, tilted. _Where is—?_ Anders hums, tucked under Hawke. Fenris spots other remnants as he crosses the room, stripping off his vest: Hawke’s gag, a chair facing the mirror, more rope on another bedpost, Anders’ collar set neatly aside, and a pile of crusty rags, none stained red.

Fenris isn’t sure whether his worries latched onto blood because of Anders’ hard limit or the damage it implied, _or both_ , but the lack of blood in the bedroom finally, _finally_ shuts his brain up. His vest slides to the floor, and he crawls into bed to press against Anders’ back and stroke Hawke’s sides. Anders’ face is tucked into the space between Hawke’s shoulder and neck. Hawke drapes an arm over Fenris, so he gives him a peck. Hawke catches Fenris and deepens the kiss lazily. Fenris pours his relief into it.

He had never believed Hawke would abuse Anders, given full control, and so he’d encouraged them. It would be senseless for Hawke to destroy his rebuilt relationship with Anders… and with Fenris, too. No matter the victim, Fenris would never willingly stay with an abuser.

Fenris’ last relationship was built on fear, not on trust. Unpredictability kept him alert to threat and nuance, unspoken thoughts. Danarius said it kept him vigilant, but he wore thin, vigilant against his family.

_No, not family,_ Fenris corrects himself. His master. His _former, late_ master’s friends and rivals.

The two relationships have few parallels. Identical smiles mean different things; lust has different results. Fenris finds the disturbing similarities when he examines the sex itself. Sexually, Fenris enjoys it when a strong person takes control.

Fenris has learned to accept it from Hawke. Danarius would use his sexuality to force loyalty and promises, but Hawke does not control Fenris’ life, just his orgasms. Hawke doesn't know Fenris attacked slavers last night or the identity of Fenris’ templar source, and he won’t ask. He has invited Fenris to live at the estate but accepts that Fenris prefers his own mansion, his own space. He never hurts Fenris or Anders unless they give enthusiastic permission.

Fenris settles his hand against Hawke, and his nose lands in Anders’ loose hair. It doesn’t tickle much, and it smells like fruit and sweat, so he stays. Anders is safe, which means Fenris is safe. _Novel. A relationship that makes sense._

Anders rolls to his back, jostling Hawke, who’s smiling and faking sleep. The early morning light picks out Anders’ faint pink ligature marks. Arms, ankles.

“Fenris? You missed a fun night.” Anders is smiling. _More novelty: a smile for rope marks._

“Fun?” says Hawke, cracking an affronted eyelid. “That’s it?”

“Orgasmic fun?” Anders offers.

Hawke chuckles, rumbling through Anders. “I’ll take it,” he says.

“I must admit, I’ve never heard of _fun_ with ropes… tell me?” Fenris says.

He hesitates, and Fenris fears he’s revealed too much until Anders says, “What do you want to know?”

“Why ropes?” His voice stays even.

Anders hums, burrowing under Hawke. “I enjoy following orders. With ropes, I can’t escape orders. Well, I could safe-word, but why fuck it up?”

“Safe words don’t fuck it up, they make it work,” Hawke says. “Never hesitate when needed.”

“I don’t,” Anders assures him.

“I remember,” says Fenris. Last time, Fenris told Anders not to cum. The result was fucking hot.

“I can use that example,” Anders says as he lays a hand on Fenris’ leather-clad hip. “If I hadn’t given my safe word, I’d have disobeyed orders, which would have been absolute crap. Instead, it was intensely rewarding to do it right. But being tied down stacks the deck in my favor. I have to do well; I have to win.” Anders’ legs tense as he stretches against them. “Damn, that felt good.”

The game can be played another way. Hawke could force Anders to disobey and punish the disobedience. He could blame Anders for _letting_ Hawke bind him. As if Danarius had given Fenris or his ‘playmates’ a way out.

Fenris touches a mark on Anders’ arm, looks at his smile, and doesn’t mention the possibility.

“That reminds me,” Hawke says, smiling. “We left you a present.”

“Oh, right!” Anders flips so exuberantly Fenris and Hawke roll back. “How’s it look, Elf?” he taunts, wriggling.

There’s a lopsided heart-shaped bruise on Anders’ ass.

Fenris snorts a laugh. He can’t help it: it catches him off-guard. “It’s perfect. I should have expected its like.”

“Why, what’d he do?” Anders twists to see, with limited success.

“It’s a valentine shape.”

“So a heart? Hawke! Thank you,” he says and twists to kiss Hawke’s smile. Then he beams at Fenris. “I hope you like it.”

“I like it,” he says and doesn’t know where to put his hands.

Hawke picks that moment to flop over them, controlling his weight. Fenris rolls into Anders, Hawke growling playfully and nuzzling close while Anders laughs and Fenris elbows Hawke with mock disgust.

It’s wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That… was a very broody kiss, Fenris. Just saying.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my betas, [Rosehip](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosehip/pseuds/Rosehip) and [WhattheButlerSaw](http://archiveofourown.org/users/what_the_butler_saw/pseuds/what_the_butler_saw)! Anything you find wrong with this fic is because I ignored their excellent wisdom. 
> 
> Follow my Tumblr [@starlanellfic](https://starlanellfic.tumblr.com/) for peeks into my writing process, writing tips I’ve used, and meta discussion. Feel free to Ask me about the future or Message me your headcanons, too! 
> 
> I use comments and Kudos like a plant uses air and sunlight: it feeds my fic-writing habit.


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